CHAPTER XXVI. A REMNANT OF 'FONTENOY'
There was no resisting the inquisitive curiosity of my companion. Theshort dry cough, the little husky 'ay,' that sounded like anythingrather than assent, which followed on my replies to his questions, and,more than all, the keen, oblique glances of his shrewd grey eyes, toldme that I had utterly failed in all my attempts at mystification, andthat he read me through and through.
'And so,' said he, at last, after a somewhat lengthy narrative of myshipwreck, 'and so the Flemish sailors wear spurs?'
'Spurs! of course not; why should they?' asked I, in some astonishment.
'Well, but don't they?' asked he again.
'No such thing; it would be absurd to suppose it.'
'So I thought,' rejoined he; 'and when I looked at yer "honour's" boots'(it was the first time he had addressed me by this title of deference),'and saw the marks on the heels for spurs, I soon knew how much of asailor you were.'
'And if not a sailor, what am I, then?' asked I; for, in the lonelinessof the mountain region where we walked, I could afford to throw off mydisguise without risk.
'Ye're a French officer of dragoons, and God bless ye; but ye 're youngto be at the trade. Aren't I right, now?'
'Not very far from it, certainly, for I am a lieutenant of hussars,'said I, with a little of that pride which we of the loose pelisse alwaysfeel on the mention of our corps.
'I knew it well all along,' said he coolly; 'the way you stood in theroom, your step as you walked, and, above all, how you believed me whenI spoke of the spring-tides, and the moon only in her second quarter,I saw you never was a sailor, anyhow. And so I set a-thinking what youwere. You were too silent for a pedlar, and your hands were too white tobe in the smuggling trade; but when I saw your boots, I had the secretat once, and knew ye were one of the French army that landed the otherday at Killala.'
'It was stupid enough of me not to have remembered the boots!' said I,laughing.
'Arrah, what use would it be,' replied he; 'sure ye 're too straight inthe back, and your walk is too regular, and your toes turns in too much,for a sailor; the very way you hould a switch in your hand would betrayyou!'
'So it seems, then, I must try some other disguise,' said I, 'if I 'm tokeep company with people as shrewd as you are.'
'You needn't,' said he, shaking his head doubtfully; 'any that wants tobetray ye wouldn't find it hard.'
I was not much flattered by the depreciating tone in which he dismissedmy efforts at personation, and walked on for some time without speaking.
'Yez came too late, four months too late,' said he, with a sorrowfulgesture of the hands. 'When the Wexford boys was up, and the Kildarechaps, and plenty more ready to come in from the north, then, indeed, afew thousand French down here in the west would have made a differ; butwhat's the good in it now? The best men we had are hanged or in gaol;some are frightened; more are traitors! 'Tis too late--too late!'
'But not too late for a large force landing in the north, to rouse theisland to another effort for liberty.'
'Who would be the gin'ral?' asked he suddenly.
'Napper Tandy, your own countryman,' replied I proudly.
'I wish ye luck of him!' said he, with a bitter laugh; ''tis more likemocking us than anything else the French does be, with the chaps theysent here to be gin'rals. Sure it isn't Napper Tandy, nor a set of younglawyers like Tone and the rest of them, we wanted. It was men that knewhow to drill and manage troops--fellows that was used to fightin'; sothat when they said a thing, we might believe that they understhood it,at laste. I 'm ould enough to remimber the "Wild Geese," as they usedto call them--the fellows that ran away from this to take sarvice inFrance; and I remimber, too, the sort of men the French were that cameover to inspect them--soldiers, real soldiers, every inch of them. And afine sarvice it was. _Volte-face!_ cried he, holding himself erect, andshouldering his stick like a musket, _marche!_ Ha, ha! ye didn't thinkthat was in me; but I was at the thrade long before you were born.'
'How is this?' said I, in amazement; 'you were not in the French army?'
'Wasn't I, though? maybe I didn't get that stick there.' And he baredhis breast as he spoke, to show the cicatrix of an old flesh-wound froma Highlander's bayonet. 'I was at Fontenoy!'
The last few words he uttered with a triumphant pride that I shall neverforget. As for me, the mere name was magical. 'Fontenoy' was like one ofthose great words which light up a whole page of history; and it almostseemed impossible that I should see before me a soldier of that gloriousbattle.
'Ay, faith!' he added, ''tis more than fifty, 'tis nigh sixty yearsnow since that, and I remember it as if it was yesterday. I was inthe regiment "Tourville"; I was recruited for the "Dillon," but theyscattered us about among the other corps afterwards, because we used nowand then to be fighting and quarrellin' among one another. Well, it wasthe Dillons that gained the battle; for after the English was in thevillage of Fontenoy, and the French was falling back upon the heightsnear the wood--arrah, what's the name of the wood? Sure, I'll forgetmy own name next. Ay, to be sure, Verzon--the "Wood of Verzon." MajorJodillon--that's what the French called him, but his name was JoeDillon--turned an eight-pounder short round into a little yard of afarmhouse, and making a breach for the gun, he opened a dreadful fire onthe English column. It was loaded with grape, and at half-musket range,so you may think what a peppering they got. At last the column haltedand lay down; and Joe seen an officer ride off to the rear, to bring upartillery to silence our guns. A few minutes more and it would be allover with us. So Joe shouts out as loud as he could, "Cavalry there!tell off by threes, and prepare to charge." I needn't tell you that thedivil a horse nor a rider was within a mile of us at the time; but theEnglish didn't know that, and, hearin' the ordher, up they jumps, and weheerd the word passin', "Prepare to receive cavalry." They formed squareat once, and the same minute we plumped into them with such a charge astore a lane right through the middle of them. Before they could recover,we opened a platoon-fire on their flank; they staggered, broke, and atlast fell back in disorder upon Aeth, with the whole of the French armyafter them. Such firin'--grape, round shot, and musketry--I never seedafore, and we all shouting like divils, for it was more like a hunt noranything else; for ye see the Dutch never came up, but left the Englishto do all the work themselves, and that's the reason they couldn't form,for they had no supportin' column.
'It was then I got that stick of the bayonet, for there was such runnin'that we only thought of pelting after them as hard as we could; but yesee, there's nothin' so treacherous as a Highlander. I was just behindone, and had my sword-point between his bladebones ready to run himthrough, when he turned short about, and run his bayonet into me underthe short ribs, and that was all I saw of the battle; for I bled till Ifainted, and never knew more of what happened. 'Tisn't by way ofmaking little of Frenchmen I say it, for I sarved too long wid them forthat--but sorra taste of that victory ever they'd see if it wasn't forthe Dillons, and Major Joe that commanded them! The English knows itwell, too! Maybe they don't do us many a spite for it to this very day!'
'And what became of you after that?'
'That same summer I came over to Scotland with the young Prince Charles,and was at the battle of Prestonpans afterwards! and, what's worse, Iwas at Culloden! Oh, that was the terrible day. We were dead bate beforewe began the battle. We were on the march from one o'clock the nightbefore, under the most dreadful rain ever ye seen! We lost our waytwice, and after four hours of hard marching, we found ourselvesopposite a milldam we crossed early that same morning; for the guidesled us all astray! Then came ordhers to wheel about face and go backagain; and back we went, cursing the blaguards that deceived us, andalmost faintin' with hunger. Some of us had nothing to eat for two days,and the Prince, I seen myself, had only a brown bannock to a woodenmeasure of whisky for his own breakfast. Well, it's no use talking; wewere bate, and we retreated to Inverness that night, and next morning wesurrendered and laid down our arms--that is, the "Regiment do
Tournay"and the "Voltigeurs de Metz," the corps I was in myself.'
'And did you return to France?'
'No; I made my way back to Ireland, and after loiterin' about home sometime, and not liking the ways of turning to work again, I took sarvicewith one Mister Brooke, of Castle Brooke, in Fermanagh, a young man thatwas just come of age, and as great a divil, God forgive me, as ever wasspawned. He was a Protestant, but he didn't care much about one side orthe other, but only wanted diversion and his own fun out of the world;and faix he took it, too! He had plenty of money, was a fine man to lookat, and had courage to face a lion!
'The first place we went to was Aix-la-Chapelle, for Mr. Brooke wasnamed something--I forget what--to Lord Sandwich, that was going thereas an Ambassador.
It was a grand life there while it lasted. Such liveries, such coaches,such elegant dinners every day, I never saw even in Paris. But my masterwas soon sent away for a piece of wildness he did. There was an ouldAustrian there--a Count Riedensegg was his name---and he was alwaysplottin' and schamin' with this, that, and the other; buyin' up thesacrets of others, and gettin' at their private papers one way or theother; and at last he begins to thry the same game with us; and as hesaw that Mr. Brooke was very fond of high play, and would bet anythingone offered him, the ould count sends for a great gambler from Vienna,the greatest villain, they say, that ever touched a card. Ye may haveheerd of him, tho' 'twas long ago that he lived, for he was well knownin them times. He was the Baron von Breokendorf, and a great friendafterwards of the Prince Ragint and all the other blaguards in London.
'Well, sir, the baron arrives in great state, with despatches, theysaid, but sorrow other despatch he carried nor some packs of markedcards, and a dice-box that could throw sixes whenever ye wanted; and heputs up at the Grand Hotel, with all his servants in fine liveriesand as much state as a prince. That very day Mr. Brooke dined with thecount, and in the evening himself and the baron sits down to the cards;and, pretending to be only playin' for silver, they were bettin' ahundred guineas on every game.
'I always heerd that my master was cute with the cards, and that fewwas equal to him in any game with pasteboard or ivory; but, be myconscience, he met his match now, for if it was ould Nick was playin' hecouldn't do the thrick nater nor the baron. He made everything come upjust like magic: if he wanted a seven of diamonds, or an ace of spades,or the knave of clubs, there it was for you.
'Most gentlemen would have lost temper at seein' the luck so dead agin'them, and everything goin' so bad; but my master only smiled, andkept muttering to himself, "Faix, its beautiful; by my conscience itselegant; I never saw anybody could do it like that." At last the baronstops and asks, "What is it he's saying to himself?" "I'll tell youby-and-by," says my master, "when we're done playing"; and so on theywent, betting higher and higher, till at last the stakes wasn't veryfar from a thousand pounds on a single card. At the end, Mr. Brooke losteverything, and in the last game, by way of generosity, the baron saysto him, "Double or quit?" and he tuk it.
'This time luck stood to my master, and he turned the queen of hearts;and as there was only one card could beat him, the game was all as oneas his own. The baron takes up the pack, and begins to deal. "Wait,"says my master, leaning over the table, and talking in a whisper;"wait," says he; "what are ye doin' there wid your thumb?" for sureenough he had his thumb dug hard into the middle of the pack.
'"Do you mane to insult me?" says the baron, getting mighty red, andthrowing down the cards on the table. "Is that what you're at?"
'"Go on with the deal," says Mr. Brooke quietly; "but listen to me," andhere he dropped his voice to a whisper, "as sure as you turn the kingof hearts, I'll send a bullet through your skull! Go on, now, and don'trise from that seat till you 've finished the game." Faix he just did ashe was bid; he turned a little two or three of diamonds, and gettin' upfrom the table, he left the room, and the next morning there was nomore seen of him in Aix-la-Chapelle. But that wasn't the end of it, forscarce was the baron two posts on his journey when my master sends inhis name, and says he wants to speak to Count Riedensegg. There was along time and a great debatin', I believe, whether they'd let him in ornot; for the count couldn't make if it was mischief he was after; but atlast he was ushered into the bedroom where the other was in bed.
'"Count," says he, after he fastened the door, and saw that they wasalone, "Count, you tried a dirty thrick with that dirty spalpeen of abaron--an ould blaguard that's as well known as Preney the robber--butI forgive you for it all, for you did it in the way of business. I knowwell what you was afther; you wanted a peep at our despatches--there, yeneedn't look cross and angry--why wouldn't ye do it, just as the baronalways took a sly glance at my cards before he played his own. Well,now, I'm just in the humour to sarve you. They're not trating me as theyought here, and I'm going away, and if you'll give me a few letthersto some of the pretty women in Vienna, Katinka Batthyani, and AmaliaGradoffseky, and one or two men in the best set, I'll send you in returnsomething that will surprise you."
'It was after a long time and great batin' about the bush, that the ouldcount came in; but the sight of a sacret cipher did the business, and heconsented.
'"There it is," says Mr. Brooke, "there's the whole key to ourcorrespondence; study it well, and I'll bring you a sacret despatch inthe evening--something that will surprise you."
'"Ye will--will ye?" says the count.
'"On the honour of an Irish gentleman, I will," says Mr. Brooke.
'The count sits down on the spot and writes the letters to all theprincesses and countesses in Vienna, saying that Mr. Brooke was theelegantest, and politest, and most trusty young gentleman ever he met;and telling them to treat him with every consideration.
'"There will be another account of me," says the master to me, "by thepost; but I 'll travel faster, and give me a fair start, and I ask nomore."
'And he was as good as his word, for he started that evening for Vienna,without lave or license, and that's the way he got dismissed from hissituation.'
'And did he break his promise to the count, or did he really send himany intelligence?'
'He kept his word, like a gentleman; he promised him somethingthat would surprise him, and so he did. He sent him "The Weddin' ofBallyporeen" in cipher. It took a week to make out, and I suppose they've never got to the right understandin' it yet.'
'I'm curious to hear how he was received in Vienna, after this,' said I.'I suppose you accompanied him to that city?'
'Troth I did, and a short life we led there. But here we are now, at theend of our journey. That's Father Doogan's down there, that small, low,thatched house in the hollow.'
'A lonely spot, too. I don't see another near it for miles on any side.'
'Nor is there. His chapel is at Murrah, about three miles off. My eyesisn't over good; but I don't think there's any smoke coming out of thechimley.'
'You are right--there is not.'
'He's not at home, then, and that's a bad job for us, for there's notanother place to stop the night in.'
'But there will be surely some one in the house.'
'Most likely not; 'tis a brat of a boy from Murrah does be with him whenhe's at home, and I'm sure he's not there now.'
This reply was not very cheering, nor was the prospect itself muchbrighter. The solitary cabin, to which we were approaching, stood ina rugged glen, the sides of which were covered with a low furze,intermixed here and there with the scrub of what once had been an oakforest. A brown, mournful tint was over everything--sky and landscapealike; and even the little stream of clear water that wound its twiningcourse along took the same colour from the gravelly bed it flowed over.Not a cow nor sheep was to be seen, nor even a bird; all was silent andstill.
'There's few would like to pass their lives down there, then!' said mycompanion, as if speaking to himself.
'I suppose the priest, like a soldier, has no choice in these matters.'
'Sometimes he has, though. Father Doogan might have had the pick of thecounty,
they say; but he chose this little quiet spot here. He's a friarof some ordher abroad, and when he came over, two or three years ago, hecould only spake a little Irish, and, I believe, less English; but therewasn't his equal for other tongues in all Europe. They wanted him tostop and be the head of a college somewhere in Spain, but he wouldn't."There was work to do in Ireland," he said, and there he'd go, and tothe wildest and laste civilised bit of it besides; and ye see that hewas not far ont in his choice when he took Murrah.'
'Is he much liked here by the people?'
'They'd worship him, if he'd let them, that's what it is; for if he hasmore larnin' and knowledge in his head than ever a bishop in Ireland,there's not a child in the barony his equal for simplicity. He thatknows the names of the stars, and what they do be doing, and where theworld's going, and what's comin' afther her, hasn't a thought for thewickedness of this life, no more than a sucking infant! He could tellyou every crop to put in your ground from this to the day of judgment,and I don't think he'd know which end of the spade goes into theground.'
While we were thus talking, we reached the door, which, as well as thewindows, was closely barred and fastened. The great padlock, however,on the former, with characteristic acuteness, was looked without beinghasped, so that, in a few seconds, my old guide had undone all thefastenings, and we found ourselves under shelter.
A roomy kitchen, with a few cooking utensils, formed the entrance hall;and as a small supply of turf stood in one corner, my companion at onceproceeded to make a fire, congratulating me as he went on with the factof our being housed, for a long-threatening thunderstorm had alreadyburst, and the rain was now swooping along in torrents.
While he was thus busied, I took a ramble through the little cabin,curious to see something of the 'interior' of one whose life had alreadyinterested me. There were but two small chambers, one at either side ofthe kitchen. The first I entered was a bedroom, the only furniture beinga common bed, or a tressel like that of a hospital, a little colouredprint of St. Michael adorning the wall overhead. The bed-covering wascleanly, but patched in many places, and bespeaking much poverty, andthe black 'soutane' of silk that hung against the wall seemed to showlong years of service. The few articles of any pretensions to comfortwere found in the sitting-room, where a small book-shelf with somewell-thumbed volumes, and a writing-table covered with papers, maps, anda few pencil-drawings, appeared. All seemed as if he had just quittedthe spot a few minutes before; the pencil lay across a half-finishedsketch; two or three wild plants were laid within, the leaves of alittle book on botany; and a chess problem, with an open book beside it,still waited for solution on a little board, whose workmanship clearlyenough betrayed it to be by his own hands.
I inspected everything with an interest inspired by all I had beenhearing of the poor priest, and turned over the little volumes of hishumble library, to trace, if I might, some due to his habits in hisreadings. They were all, however, of one cast and character--religioustracts and offices, covered with annotations and remarks, and showingby many signs the most careful and frequent perusal. It was easy to seethat his taste for drawing or for chess were the only dissipations hepermitted himself to indulge. What a strange life of privation, thoughtI, alone and companionless as he must be! and while speculating on thesense of duty which impelled such a man to accept a post so humble andunpromising, I perceived that on the wall right opposite to me therehung a picture, covered by a little curtain of green silk.
Curious to behold the saintly effigy so carefully enshrined, I drewaside the curtain, and what was my astonishment to find a littlecoloured sketch of a boy about twelve years old, dressed in the tawdryand much-worn uniform of a drummer. I started. Something flashedsuddenly across my mind, that the features, the dress, the air, were notunknown to me. Was I awake, or were my senses misleading me? I tookit down and held it to the light, and as well as my trembling handspermitted, I spelled out at the foot of the drawing, the words 'Le PetitMaurice, as I saw him last.' Yes, it was my own portrait, and the wordswere in the writing of my dearest friend in the world, the Pere Michel.Scarce knowing what I did, I ransacked books and papers on every side,to confirm my suspicions, and although his name was nowhere to be found,I had no difficulty in recognising his hand, now so forcibly recalled tomy memory.
Hastening into the kitchen, I told my guide that I must set out toMurrah at once, that it was, above all, important that I should see thepriest immediately. It was in vain that he told me he was unequal to thefatigue of going farther, that the storm was increasing, the mountaintorrents were swelling to a formidable size, that the path could not bediscovered after dark; I could not brook the thought of delay, and wouldnot listen to the detail of difficulties. 'I must see him and I will,'were my answers to every obstacle. If I were resolved on one side, hewas no less obstinate on the other; and after explaining with patienceall the dangers and hazards of the attempt, and still finding meunconvinced, he boldly declared that I might go alone, if I would, butthat he would not leave the shelter of a roof, such a night, for anyone.
There was nothing in the shape of argument I did not essay. I triedbribery, I tried menace, flattery, intimidation, all--and all withthe like result. 'Wherever he is to-night, he'll not leave it, that'scertain,' was the only satisfaction he would vouchsafe, and I retiredbeaten from the contest, and disheartened. Twice I left the cottage,resolved to make the journey alone, but the utter darkness of the night,the torrents of rain that beat against my face, soon showed me theimpracticability of the attempt, and I retraced my steps crest-fallenand discomfited. The most intense curiosity to know how and by whatchances he had come to Ireland mingled with my ardent desire to meethim. What stores of reminiscence had we to interchange! Nor was itwithout pride that I bethought me of the position I then held--anofficer of a hussar regiment, a soldier of more than one campaign, andhigh on the list for promotion. If I hoped, too, that many of the goodfather's prejudices against the career I followed would give way to therecords of my own past life, I also felt how, in various respects, Ihad myself conformed to many of his notions. We should be dearer, closerfriends than ever. This I was sure of.
I never slept the whole night through. Tired and weary as the day'sjourney had left me, excitement was still too strong for repose, and Iwalked up and down, lay for half an hour on my bed, rose to look out,and peer for coming dawn. Never did hours lag so lazily. The darknessseemed to last for an eternity, and when at last day did break, it wasthrough the lowering gloom of skies still charged with rain, and anatmosphere loaded with vapour.
'This is a day for the chimney-corner, and thankful to have it we oughtto be,' said my old guide, as he replenished the turf fire, at whichhe was preparing our breakfast. 'Father Doogan will be home here aforenight, I'm sure, and as we have nothing better to do, I'll tell you someof our old adventures when I lived with Mr. Brooke. Twill sarve to passthe time, anyway.'
'I'm off to Murrah, as soon as I have eaten something,' replied I.
'Tis little you know what a road it is,' said he, smiling dubiously.''Tis four mountain rivers you 'd have to cross, two of them, at least,deeper than your head, and there's the pass of Barnascorney, where you'd have to turn the side of a mountain, with a precipice hundreds offeet below you, and a wind blowing that would wreck a seventy-four!There 's never a man in the barony would venture over the same path witha storm ragin' from the nor'-west.'
'I never heard of a man being blown away off a mountain,' said I,laughing contemptuously.
'Arrah, didn't ye, then? then maybe ye never lived in parts where theheaviest ploughs and harrows that can be laid in the thatch of a cabinare flung here and there, like straws, and the strongest timbers tornout of the walls, and scattered for miles along the coast, like thespars of a shipwreck.'
'But so long as a man has hands to grip with----'
'How ye talk! sure, when the wind can tear the strongest trees up bythe roots; when it rolls big rocks fifty and a hundred feet out of theirplace; when the very shingle on the mountain-side
is flying about likedust and sand, where would your grip be? It is not only on the mountainseither, but down in the plains, ay, even in the narrowest glens, thatthe cattle lies down under shelter of the rocks; and many's the time asheep, or even a heifer, is swept away off the cliffs into the sea.'
With many an anecdote of storm and hurricane he seasoned our littlemeal of potatoes. Some curious enough, as illustrating the precautionaryhabits of a peasantry, who, on land, experience many of the vicissitudessupposed peculiar to the sea; others too miraculous for easy credence,but yet vouched for by him with every affirmative of truth. He displayedall his powers of agreeability and amusement, but his tales fell onunwilling ears, and when our meal was over I started up and began toprepare for the road.
'So you will go, will you?' said he peevishly. ''Tis in your countryto be obstinate, so I 'll say nothing more; but maybe 'tis only intothroubles you 'd be running, after all!'
'I'm determined on it,' said I, 'and I only ask you to tell me what roadto take.'
'There is only one, so there is no mistakin' it; keep to the sheep-path,and never leave it except at the torrents; you must pass them how yecan. And when ye come to four big rocks in the plain, leave them to yourleft, and keep the side of the mountain for two miles, till ye see thesmoke of the village underneath you. Murrah is a small place, and ye'llhave to look out sharp, or maybe ye'll miss it.'
'That's enough,' said I, putting some silver in his hand as I pressedit. 'We 'll probably meet no more; good-bye, and many thanks for yourpleasant company.'
'No, we're not like to meet again,' said he thoughtfully, 'and that'sthe reason I'd like to give you a bit of advice. Hear me, now,' saidhe, drawing closer and talking in a whisper; 'you can't go far in thiscountry without being known; 'tisn't your looks alone, but your voice,and your tongue, will show what ye are. Get away out of it as fast asyou can! there's thraitors in every cause, and there's chaps in Irelandwould rather make money as informers than earn it by honest industry.Get over to the Scotch islands; get to Islay or Barra; get anywhere outof this for the time.'
'Thanks for the counsel,' said I, somewhat coldly, 'I'll have time tothink over it as I go along;' and with these words I set forth on myjourney.
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